Chapter 20 — Confessions and Coal
Dawn used colors I had forgotten names for.
Peach along the horizon. Rose caught in the snow like blush on porcelain. A thin gold that did not brag, only promised there would be more of it later. We walked back through the ruined arch of the Prime Gate and the air felt unburdened. The world had loosened a belt after a very long meal.
Chuck went ahead of us and stopped where Gwen’s cracked rune cut the frost.
He carried the bear in both hands. Nick followed, harness unfastened, the last glimmer of duty still clinging to his cuffs. Dax and I hung back near the sleigh. We did not speak.
Even time stood a respectful distance away.
Chuck knelt. He set the bear on the snow. Its seams glowed and sent a soft light running along the fracture. The crack closed with a quiet click I felt in my teeth. He whispered, barely louder than the wind. “She is gone. The magic is not.”
Nick lowered himself beside him. “Then finish it.”
Chuck looked over his shoulder at us, then back to the bear. His eyes were rimmed red. “I can’t end it alone.”
Nick’s mouth twitched. He’d learned how to smile again and it looked new on his face. “You don’t have to.”
I flipped my ledger open and did not write. For once I wanted to see it without ink between me and the moment.
Chuck drew a slow breath.
He lifted the bear.
“I bound you once,” he said. “I unbind you now. Not by power. By peace.”
The bear’s button eyes brightened. The coal in Chuck’s pocket began to hum. Warmth crept through the cold like tea poured into a frozen cup. Nick placed his hand over Chuck’s, steady and certain. They pressed the charm between their palms.
“I forgive you,” Chuck said.
“And I forgive you,” Nick answered.
Light threaded up through the ice from Gwen’s rune. Red met gold. They braided and climbed the Gate’s broken ribs until the whole ruin wore ribboned light. The sky took the color.
The aurora answered.
For a heartbeat the north sang with a voice as old as kindness.
The Pact flared for the last time. Not a curse unraveling. A promise kept.
Wind quieted. Snow rose and turned weightless and drifted higher. My scattered notes caught the breeze and lifted. Pages fluttered past my nose. I let them go. The story no longer needed proof.
“What is happening,” Dax whispered.
“I think it’s magic remembering what mercy feels like,” I said. My own voice shook.
At the center of the glow the bear just…dissolved. Thread by glowing thread unwound into light. The coal pulsed once in Chuck’s hand. Then it burst into starlight that coiled around Nick. Wings grew out of brightness and snowflake dust. He blinked through the glow like a man waking from a long ache.
“It’s…letting me go,” he said.
Chuck nodded. “You were never supposed to carry it forever.”
Nick clasped Chuck’s forearm. His fingers were strong again. Years dropped from his shoulders the way frost drops when doors open. He lifted the light and pressed it back into Chuck’s hand. “Then take it. Not as guilt.” He smiled then. “As a gift.”
The coal settled in Chuck’s palm, smooth and warm. Gwen’s rune had carved itself into the surface. It was small. It was enough.
“Nick,” Chuck started.
“Don’t look so sad,” Nick said, and there was a solid smile in his beard now, honest and tired and free. “You gave the world belief, Charles. Now give it peace.”
The light around him brightened. The wings folded and unfolded once, sending a hush through the clearing. He looked past us toward the newborn sky and let the dawn take him. The place he had occupied filled with warmth that chose to remain.
No trumpets. No thunder. Just a gentle subtraction.
We stood in the hush he left. The Gate’s ribs no longer groaned. The runes lay quiet and calm…healed bone now whole. The wind moved again, but softer now, carrying the faint ring of very far bells.
Dax cleared his throat. He hates silence unless he earns it. He stepped to the center and nudged a curl of frost with his bare toe. “So… that it?”
Chuck sat back on his heels. He held the coal and looked at the glow soaked into the snow. He laughed once. The sound broke and reformed into something lighter. “That is it. For once, I think that is a good thing.”
I finally let my quill touch the page. “Entry,” I murmured. “Two friends kneel. One leaves lighter. One stays warmer. The world chooses both.”
Dax glanced down at my writing hand, then at the empty patch of air where a saint had been a moment ago. “Put in there I did not cry,” he said.
“You absolutely did,” I said.
“Then put in that I hid it well.”
“I will annotate your attempt,” I said. “This will make an excellent epilogue.”
Chuck rose. The dawn followed him up like a loyal dog. He cupped the coal and studied the rune cut into its face. He smiled toward the ragged sky. “You hear that, love? We finally stopped making a mess of miracles.”
Something moved through the light. Not wind. An answer. A soft chime rolled across the snow and settled behind the ears where memory keeps secrets.
Dax came to stand beside him. He smelled like cold tobacco, which, to this day I say is still a bad habit. “So what now,” he asked.
Chuck closed his fingers around the coal. He slid it into the red coat’s pocket over his heart. “Now we go home.”
“Which one,” I asked.
“All of them,” he said. He looked at the Gate, at the line where Gwen’s rune had mended. “We tell the truth. We fix what needs fixing. We leave what needs leaving.” He took a breath that went all the way down. “We let people give because they want to.”
The sleigh answered with a small hum from behind us. It had learned joy again. It would not be shy about using it.
I dusted frost from my spectacles. “For the record,” I said, “this will make an excellent epilogue.”
Dax snorted. “You already said that.”
“I am practicing,” I said. “A good epilogue deserves to be rehearsed.”
Chuck looked up at the sky that had changed colors while we watched. The pale gold had warmed to honey. Shadows were soft at the edges. The cold was still cold, but it did not bite. He touched the pocket over his heart and nodded once to the ruins, once to the sleigh, once to the place where a friend had smiled and left a better silence behind.
“Ready,” he said.
We followed him to the sleigh. Dax climbed to the right, boxers and bravado and an unlit cigar tucked where he always hides it. I took my place with the ledger across my knees. The runners whispered. The harness bells gave a small agreeable answer. Far overhead, the aurora faded into daylight and did not mind.
Before he took the reins, Chuck looked back at the Gate one last time. Light pooled in the snow where Gwen’s rune had sealed. The pool reflected a sky that looked new despite being the same old sky we had always shared.
He smiled. “Thank you,” he said to no one…and to everything.
The sleigh lifted. The world did not resist. The day opened in front of us like a page that had been waiting for the right ink.
And when we rose through the broken arch into that bright, warming morning, I thought I heard bells again. Not loud. Not commanding. A simple sound. A true one.
Confession finished. Coal kept. Peace begun.
Again..... Wow!! Your stories leave me with a happy, contented feeling of, not only hope, but belief, in a brighter, more fulfilling, and contented future.
I love your stories, Jaime. Thankyou, so much, for sharing your gift with us.